


Blessedly Bound

by rowenablade



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Claiming, Coming Untouched, Consensual Non-Consent, Crowley Has Issues (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Dom Drop, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Good Omens Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Con is in flashbacks only, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painplay, Past Rape/Non-con, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Rape Fantasy, Rape Recovery, Roleplay, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Subspace, Teasing, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26410858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenablade/pseuds/rowenablade
Summary: Aziraphale wanted Crowley to be safe, and happy, and to feel loved. Sometimes, to feel safe and happy and loved, Crowley needed Aziraphale to hold him down. To take him roughly. To leave marks upon his body for him to flaunt in public, and bollocks to what the neighbors might think.He never seemed particularly interested in examining thewhyof this.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 354
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads, Good Omens Kink Meme, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Top Aziraphale Recs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! This is a fill for [this](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=1279080#cmt1279080) prompt from the Good Omens Kink Meme (I can't stop, you guys). As stated in the tags, this fic contains trauma from a previous sexual assault and flashbacks regarding same, so the Non-Con warning is used. Chapters that contain this content will have warnings in the notes at the beginning as well. Chapter 1 is just loving, kinky sex, and can be read as a standalone if you'd rather skip the more intense content.

The trip to the seaside had been, so far, reasonably successful.

It had been Aziraphale who had suggested the location, so it had come rather as a surprise to Crowley to discover that not only did the angel refuse to go into the water, he didn’t own a bathing costume and could not be convinced through any amount of cajoling to obtain one, via miraculous means or otherwise. When pressed, he’d alluded vaguely to some incident in the 19th century that put him off sunbathing for good, but no further details were forthcoming. Crowley indulged this peculiarity for the first two days, following Aziraphale to various cafes, shops and galleries, and having a decent enough time of it. On the third day, however, the golden sand and lush blue sea and sky were too much for Crowley to resist, so he kissed Aziraphale goodbye shortly after breakfast and went to the beach alone.

After an extremely refreshing series of naps in the blazing sun (and one surreptitious slither under the boardwalk, the cool wet sand deliciously bracing against his scales), Crowley ambled back to their posh hotel a few shades more bronze than he’d left it. Aziraphale had not yet returned from his gallivanting about town, so a quick change of clothes later Crowley installed himself in the hotel bar to wait for him. 

The barmaid was an Australian student on summer break who refilled Crowley’s gin and tonic without being asked while they chatted about the local music scene. She seemed delighted to have company. At half-past four the place was nearly empty, save for a pair of young lovers at a corner table and a middle-aged man in a dark suit, seated at the bar and reading the paper. The man in the suit looked at Crowley when he laughed a little too loudly at one of the barmaid’s jokes, then again when he passed him on his way to the gents. That time Crowley gave him a slight nod, the quiet commiseration of one solitary drinker to another.

The businessman seemed nervous once he returned; shuffling his paper about more than necessary, making a show of checking his phone, asking the barmaid for a fancy drink she didn’t know how to make and then stumbling over the instructions when he relayed them to her. His eyes flicked over to Crowley several times throughout, somewhat frightened but also hopeful. Crowley, who saw no reason to spoil anyone’s afternoon by needing to reject an unwanted advance, did his best to ignore all this as politely as possible. His eternally-useful dark glasses made it easy enough to take in the amusing display without leading the poor chap on.

Crowley sensed Aziraphale’s approach a few minutes before he arrived, the angel’s aura even more expansive than usual from a day at large in a new place. He swept into the bar on a rush of salt air, practically glowing in his cream-colored linens, and in spite of himself Crowley beamed like a lovesick teenager at the sight of him. The two of them immediately fell to catching up on their respective days, Aziraphale exclaiming over Crowley’s new golden hue and extolling the many virtues of the town’s historic district. As they talked, Aziraphale placed one of his hands over Crowley’s where it rested on the bar, fondly stroking his knuckles.

The businessman abruptly called the barmaid over to settle his bill, folding his paper and pointedly avoiding looking at Crowley or even turning in his direction if he could help it. He was out the door in a matter of seconds, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone with the barmaid (the lovers had long since retired upstairs), who smiled conspiratorially at the two of them and offered to draw them another round.

“Actually, we’ll settle up as well, thank you,” Aziraphale said before Crowley could respond. Then he rose from his seat, put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder and leaned in close.

“The room. Now,” he whispered, his voice rough against Crowley’s ear.

A shiver ran from the back of Crowley’s neck all the way down his spine. Aziraphale walked away without another word while Crowley hastily paid and thanked the barmaid for the company. Aziraphale didn’t even look to see if Crowley was following as he headed for the elevator, certain that the demon would be right behind him.

“Just, uh, keep the change,” Crowley stammered, knowing that such a large tip bordered on suspicious but not caring. He nearly scurried to the elevator, reaching it just as the doors dinged open and Aziraphale stepped inside.

Inside the elevator, Aziraphale withheld eye contact in favor of gazing pensively ahead, a faint smirk on his face.

“The gentleman at the bar,” he said mildly. “I suppose he might have followed you back from the beach?”

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, trying to affect as casual a pose as possible to counter the nervous tension coiling in his limbs. “Doubt it,” he answered. “Pretty sure he’d just come from work.”

“Got to talking, did you?”

“No,” Crowley said hastily. His heart was pounding. “I, er, think he wanted to, but hadn’t quite ss-screwed up the courage, yet.” He bit down hard on the hiss that escaped, and Aziraphale’s smirk grew more pronounced.

“Oh, I’m sure he would have. You are so very irresistible.” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand as the elevator doors reopened, gently tugging the demon in the direction of their room.

“Really, I don’t know what I was thinking,” the angel continued. “Letting you out of my sight for an entire day. I should count myself lucky that no one has stolen you away from me.”

“As if I’d let them,” Crowley whispered as he unlocked the door. It took a couple of tries; his hands were far from steady. 

“Rest assured I trust your intentions, my love.” Following Crowley into the room, Aziraphale shut and locked the door behind them, making sure the _Do Not Disturb_ sign was hanging on the knob outside. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust. The way they look at you. I can sense the most scandalizing thoughts about you sometimes, you know.”

“That, er…” Crowley stood awkwardly in the entryway, waiting for Aziraphale to tell him what to do. “That must be very stressful,” he settled on.

“On the contrary.” Using slow, deliberate movements, Aziraphale removed his coat and hung it up. He loosened his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Crowley’s eyes tracked each movement with feral hunger. “I find I enjoy it. Do you know why?”

Aziraphale reached up and carefully removed Crowley’s sunglasses. The demon’s eyes were soft and golden and so, so full of need.

“Why?” Crowley shuddered. He knew the answer, but he needed to hear Aziraphale say it. His soul craved it the way his body craved sleep and sunlight.

“Because I know no matter how badly they want you, they don’t get to have you.” Aziraphale brushed his knuckles against Crowley’s cheek, thrilling at the way he leaned into the touch. “Isn’t that right?”

Crowley nodded. His breath was starting to hitch; he nearly swayed on his feet.

“Mine.” Aziraphale shoved Crowley back against the door and they kissed for a few heated seconds. Crowley could have contentedly stayed like that for hours, Aziraphale’s reassuring weight pressing him against the door while he gorged on the salt-and-vanilla taste of the angel’s mouth, but he was snapped back to the present moment by the return of the rough tone from the bar.

“Undress for me,” Aziraphale whispered. “Let’s see if it’s still clear who you belong to.”

Crowley followed Aziraphale into the suite, fumbling at his clothing while the angel took a chair. He watched Aziraphale watch him undress, noting the way his eyebrow arched as he took in how much of Crowley’s long legs and slender hips his new tan occupied. His eyes roved over Crowley’s neck and wrists and ribs, anywhere where skin hewed close to bone, which was almost everywhere on Crowley. Anywhere where signs of the last time they’d played this game might remain.

Crowley couldn’t speak to the state of his back, but he knew the love bite high up on his neck had vanished, as had the rope marks on his wrists. Aziraphale had expressly forbidden him from using magic to ensure the marks lasted longer; such a thing would be cheating, he’d insisted. So Crowley had spent the last few days watching these signs of love vanish and aching with anticipation for when they would be replaced.

“Dear me,” Aziraphale murmured, beckoning Crowley to approach. “Hardly anything left.” 

He ran a soft hand up Crowley’s left thigh, ignoring his swollen cock in favor of gently caressing a faint red ring of bruise just below the crease of his hip. Crowley drew in a sharp breath, then let it out as a moan when Aziraphale pressed his lips to the same spot.

“I see I have my work cut out for me.” He seized Crowley’s hips and pulled the demon forward until he was straddling Aziraphale’s lap. Crowley sighed with pleasure as Aziraphale’s fingers crept up his back and then raked down between his shoulder blades. His back arched in response, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to plant a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his chest before biting firmly into the pectoral muscle. Crowley groaned and pulled back just enough to make him have to bite down a little harder to hold on. When he let go there was already a welt growing, identical in size and shape to the mark on Crowley’s thigh.

“What are you?” Aziraphale demanded.

“ _Yours_ ,” Crowley answered breathlessly.

They fell to kissing with an urgency that bordered on frantic. Crowley threaded his fingers through Aziraphale’s white-gold curls and shamelessly rocked his hips, rutting his aching cock against the agreeable softness of the angel’s belly. Aziraphale responded to this by unbuttoning his shirt as quickly as he could without stressing the buttonholes. Pressing against the warm skin beneath, Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment he was certain he was going to come right there, all over the both of them. Aziraphale gripped his hips again and forced him to hold still, took a few deep breaths that Crowley mimicked until the moment passed, leaving him nearly vibrating with need in the angel’s arms.

“Fuck me,” Crowley gasped. “Please.”

“So soon?” Aziraphale asked between light nips at Crowley’s neck. There would be a peppering of little purple bruises there, when they were done. “We’ve got all the time we’d like, darling.”

Crowley bit his lip and shook his head. “Now,” he answered, knowing his voice was edging into a whine but unable to help it. “Aziraphale, _please_.”

“So _desperate_. You’d think I never touched you.” Aziraphale’s voice was teasing, but he nudged Crowley off his lap and rose from his chair all the same. Crowley moved over to the bed while Aziraphale took the rest of his clothes off, but was stopped when he made to crawl onto it with a firm grip on his elbow.

“Not there,” Aziraphale instructed. Instead he steered Crowley over to the desk on the other side of the room. It had a large mirror mounted on the wall in front of it, and as Aziraphale bent him over it, Crowley caught a glimpse of blue eyes smoldering with lust before his head came to rest against his forearms.

“Stay.” The order was casual, almost conversational, but Crowley wouldn’t have dreamed of disobeying. Aziraphale’s hands lovingly mapped the planes of his back and Crowley was able to relax a little bit beneath that touch. Aziraphale had him. He was exactly where he belonged.

“My own,” the angel crooned. “My sweet and only love.” He tracked his hands over Crowley’s waist and hips, occasionally digging his nails or the pad of his thumb into some tender spot. With each tiny bloom of pain Crowley’s need grew sharper. He rose up on his elbows and pushed himself backwards, straining to at least feel the angel’s cock press against him. Aziraphale _tsked_ and pushed him right back down.

“Greedy thing,” he scolded quietly. “So impatient.”

Crowley felt a small pulse of miraculous energy, then the press of two slick fingers at his opening. He whined through his gritted teeth. Aziraphale was perfectly capable of rendering Crowley open and ready with a snap of his fingers; his insistence on doing things “the human way” was usually a sensual preference, but in this context Crowley couldn’t help but see it as a punishment. 

“F-forgive me,” he moaned as Aziraphale’s fingers breached him one at a time, then both at once. The movements were careful, torturously deliberate. 

“Whatever for, sweetheart?” Aziraphale’s voice betrayed no anger or even lust, just mild curiosity. Certain he was being mocked, Crowley buried his face against his arms.

“Dunno…for rushing you,” he whimpered. A third finger was added and he bit down on the heel of his own hand. “For how…for how people look at me,” he added when he could speak again.

“Oh, love, you don’t need to apologize for that.” 

Crowley nearly sobbed with gratitude as the fingers were replaced by the broad head of Aziraphale’s dick, easing inside of him with gentle, rhythmic pushes.

“You’re just as I like you to be. Look at you.”

It was exactly what he wanted, and it wasn’t enough. Freeing his right arm, Crowley reached down to take himself in hand, squeezing the shaft of his dick too hard and making himself hiss with pain. 

“Easy,” Aziraphale soothed him, stroking his back. “You’ll have everything you need, love. I always take care of you, don’t I?”

“Yes,” Crowley sighed. He removed his hand and let Aziraphale thrust more deeply into him. The motion ground his hips against the edge of the desk, a promise of more bruises for him to cherish. 

“As you deserve.” A cupped hand along his jaw guided Crowley to raise his head until he was looking straight into the mirror. “What a fine creature you are. My most precious treasure.”

Crowley took in his own flushed face, errant locks of hair plastered to his forehead, pupils blown wide with arousal. Behind him was Aziraphale, cool and pale and diamond-bright, upper lip curling back to show just a hint of teeth as he grabbed Crowley’s waist and began to fuck him properly. 

“Let them look,” the angel panted as his thrusts quickened. “They can look all they like, and you can _make_ them look all _you_ like, and it doesn’t matter. Because you’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Crowley agreed frantically. “Yes, _fuck_ , angel, show me. Show me I’m yours.”

Strong fingers circled Crowley’s wrists and drew his arms behind him, pinning his wrists at the small of his back. Moaning his approval, Crowley struggled a little, all the better to encourage Aziraphale to tighten his grip. As he’d hoped, pain flared up beneath the sensitive skin. Crowley rested his cheek against the wood beneath him and finally let his body relax, let himself go pliant and submissive as Aziraphale pounded into him.

He was held, wrapped tight in layers and layers of pleasure. He was owned by his angel, safe and treasured and protected. Every possessive word, every scrape of teeth or nails, every thrust into his body was another promise that he would be kept. It was what he needed. It was everything.

Aziraphale came inside of him without warning, as was his right to do. Crowley felt the heat of his release, and delight squeezed his heart at the knowledge that his body had brought the angel pleasure. That he was worthy of being claimed, like this. 

“Oh, _gorgeous_ ,” Aziraphale moaned, before releasing Crowley’s wrists to slump forward and kiss along the damp skin of his back. Crowley rolled his spine and all but purred. There was none of that frantic energy in him now, only sweet acceptance. Aziraphale eased himself out, then guided Crowley on somewhat shaky legs over to the bed. The demon let himself be moved as Aziraphale pleased, loose-limbed as he was stretched out onto his back. His sorely neglected cock jutted up against his stomach, but Crowley paid it no mind, made no attempt to ease the pressure as Aziraphale directed him to cross his arms behind his back once more.

“Love you, angel,” he sighed, gazing up at Aziraphale through his lashes.

“Why, I love you too,” Aziraphale answered, only a little surprised at the statement. Crowley had an endearingly poor filter at moments like this, and he frequently said things he could not easily say at other times. He leaned down to give the demon a long kiss.

“I’d very much like to pleasure you,” he said when they separated. “Would that be alright?”

Crowley nodded and sank his head back into the pillows, eyes falling shut. As Aziraphale kissed a path down his chest, Crowley catalogued where he was sore, where he might have marks. If he went to the beach again tomorrow, almost every one of them would be plain for all the world to see. The thought made his mouth go dry and set his cock to throbbing.

Fortunately for him, Aziraphale reached his goal at that moment and took Crowley fully into his mouth, instead of teasing him with lips and tongue as was his usual preference. Crowley gasped and dug his nails into his wrists, trying to hold still, to not be greedy or impatient but just to let himself be taken care of. It was over in what seemed like thirty seconds; he spilled down the angel’s throat with a harsh cry and collapsed, twitching, against the mattress. Aziraphale relaxed as well, arms coiled around Crowley’s waist and his head resting on his stomach. They lay tangled together like that until a beam of late afternoon sunlight fell across Aziraphale’s eyes.

“You’re wonderful,” Aziraphale sighed, nuzzling his cheek against skin that still smelled faintly of the sea.

“You,” Crowley replied, squirming about until he pull Aziraphale into the circle of his arms. 

“I think…” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s chest thoughtfully. “I think I _shall_ join you at the beach tomorrow. If you don’t mind the company.”

Crowley thought of the two of them sprawled together on a blanket on the sand. Anyone who cared to look at them would see the love bites and finger marks on Crowley’s skin, and they would know that Aziraphale was the one who put them there, a notion that nearly took his breath away.

“I don’t mind,” he said coolly. “But you’re going to have to tell me about the Bathing Machine Incident. Price of admission.”

“You have to promise not to laugh,” said Aziraphale.

“I promise _no such thing_.”

“Scoundrel,” Aziraphale pouted.

“At your service, angel,” Crowley answered. They spent a few more minutes kissing after that.

Later that evening, the two of them had dinner at a rooftop bistro. Aziraphale waxed nostalgic over the way the moonlight sparkled on the sea, and Crowley snuck his fingers beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, probing gently at the bruises there and savoring the pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has liked and commented so far! I'm hoping to regular update this on Fridays until it's finished, although I will concede that my projects frequently run longer than I planned for.
> 
> Warning in this chapter for mentions and implications of sexual assault, as well as triggers/flashbacks.

Possessiveness was not, as far as Aziraphale had surmised, a desirable quality among angels. He understood this. And while he had, over the centuries, come to accept that not all vexing personality traits were worth the trouble to expunge, he still had the habit of trying to frame them in the most virtuous context possible.

Aziraphale liked to take care of his things. His books, his clothes, his collectibles. He saw it as a duty to them, to show the world that these things had value, that they were loved, that they were worth expending the effort to cherish and protect. He thought it made the world a bit more of a pleasant place, if the beautiful things he collected were kept in good condition.

He wanted Crowley to be in good condition.

He didn’t really consider Crowley to be one of his possessions. The demon still kept his flat in Mayfair, still came and went as he pleased, was still, in almost all their interactions, public and private, Aziraphale’s friend and equal.

But something in Crowley yearned for that sense of being owned. So if that made space for Aziraphale to indulge some of his less virtuous instincts, to view Crowley with the same protective zeal with which he viewed his precious first editions, without making the demon feel imposed upon, that was just fine with Aziraphale.

He wanted Crowley to be safe, and happy, and to feel loved. Sometimes, to feel safe and happy and loved, Crowley needed Aziraphale to hold him down. To take him roughly. To leave marks upon his body for him to flaunt in public, and bollocks to what the neighbors might think.

He never seemed particularly interested in examining the _why_ of this. 

Aziraphale had asked, sort of. That first week of the rest of their lives, when they’d seldom left Crowley’s bed save to accept the occasional food delivery or take a fortifying shower, they had asked a lot of questions. They’d been so wild to know each other in the ways that hadn’t been allowed, their urgency had bordered on unhinged. They had done everything short of eating each other alive, deciding which acts needed to go into regular rotation and which could be consigned to the “not for me, thanks” pile. Every second their mouths weren’t otherwise occupied was spent asking questions. Of what was permitted, of where the other liked to be touched, can I, would you, have you ever, could you show me? And eventually Aziraphale found himself tiptoeing up to, _Why?_

“Is this something you’ve done before?” Aziraphale had asked. Crowley was sprawled across his lap, rapturously running his fingers over the rope burns on his own wrists.

“No,” Crowley answered, surprised. “No, of course not. Who would I have done it with?”

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to sound puzzled. “Surely you’ve had human lovers?”

That led to some revelations that were interesting in their own right. Aziraphale had been quietly assuming himself the more virginal one, and after a quick tally of their respective numbers was surprised to learn that Crowley had scarcely bothered with that particular earthly delight. A few flings in Ancient Rome and a brief, unhappy affair with a Russian violinist was all he felt merited mentioning.

Aziraphale had hemmed and hawed, trying to fit his mind around this entirely new perception of his oldest friend. “Well, what about other demons?” he’d eventually managed. “Seems like the sort of thing Hell would encourage.”

Crowley had gone still, then, as if for a few seconds he’d become utterly frozen in time. Then he unfroze, and replied in his same casual tone of voice, “They play too rough for me, Down There.”

And that was all he’d had to say on the topic.

That sentence had replayed itself in Aziraphale’s mind over and over, since then. The knowledge that there was such a thing as “too rough” for Crowley, and the fear of accidentally crossing that boundary himself. It had paved the way for several healthy discussions about limits, and safe practices, and what could be reasonably asked of a lover. But it was Aziraphale who had to initiate said talks, to insist that Crowley commit to his own well-being. To take the tangled mess of love and history and unspoken things their relationship had been, and shape it into the solid structure it now was.

By saying, “They play too rough for me, Down There,” and then falling silent, Crowley had opened a door into his past that Aziraphale had just barely managed to catch a glimpse through, before slamming it shut, locking it and swallowing the key. If he wanted to know what lay behind that door, Aziraphale had to watch Crowley closely and fill in the details piece by piece.

Details like, Crowley absolutely hated it when Aziraphale snuck up behind him. He quite liked to be embraced or fucked from behind, but a touch that he didn’t see coming could cause him to jump nearly out of his skin, or whirl about hissing, fangs at the ready. 

Details like, Crowley did not like being quieted. Shushing irritated him immensely, and doing so during sex, no matter how playfully, was right out. And the one time, very early on, that Aziraphale had dared to put his hand over Crowley’s mouth during their play, the demon’s eyes had immediately gone wide and terrified, and he had nearly howled their safeword against Aziraphale’s palm.

Details like, Crowley had nightmares sometimes. Aziraphale would never look into Crowley’s dreams without his prior knowledge and consent, but sometimes the demon dreamed so floridly that Aziraphale could not help but get the occasional glance. (He dearly hoped there were no psychics in the neighborhood; they would have been shaken to the core by what Crowley projected at times.) Often the dreams were of the Fall, or the Flood, or of the bookshop in flames, but occasionally the nightmares were of a dingy, cluttered room, only slightly bigger than an average closet. A fluorescent light flickering behind a silhouette seen from below. The sound of ripping cloth.

Then came the evening at the Ritz.

They were at their usual table, chit-chatting about nothing in particular, when Crowley had become very interested in a trio a few tables away. Two older men were seated with a young woman. The men had fleshy hands and faces and wore conservative suits. The woman was beautiful, in a way that suggested she considered it part of her job to be beautiful, and wore a dress that did everything it could to look expensive. Based on the snatches of conversation they overheard, the three of them appeared to be discussing the young lady’s career, and what her future ambitions were, and what she was willing to do to achieve those goals.

When the young lady excused herself to the restroom, Crowley waved her over. She’d eyed them suspiciously and hovered near their table, glancing between them and her companions and shifting from foot to stiletto-clad foot.

Crowley told the young woman that he recognized her from her latest film, which he’d greatly enjoyed, and asked to get a picture with her. The woman had laughed, told Crowley she couldn’t believe anyone had actually seen that movie, she’d thought it had sunk without a trace, and smiled hugely as Aziraphale fumbled with Crowley’s phone to take the picture. Crowley thanked her with great warmth and briefly clasped the woman’s hand between his own as he wished her a pleasant evening.

Something shifted, then, flashed between their hands before settling in the woman’s face. She was noticeably chillier when she returned to her dining companions. The men seemed eager to order another round of drinks, but the woman deflected, made some excuse about an early audition in the morning and left, the _ratatat_ of her heels loud and accusatory in the hotel’s foyer.

“What on earth did you do?” Aziraphale asked as soon as he was certain the woman would not be coming back.

“Showed her what she was in for,” Crowley answered, jerking his head toward the scowling pair of men. “She had a feeling, already. Just needed a bit of a nudge.”

Aziraphale dwelled on that as they walked home.

Not “told”. “Showed”.

Demons could sense ill intent, of course. They could not, as far as Aziraphale knew, predict the future, or show humans visions thereof.

Memories, however, they could share.

It had taken a few more days for Aziraphale to muster up the courage to ask the question directly.

“Crowley, darling, did someone hurt you, that way? The way those men at the Ritz were planning?”

Aziraphale was prepared for anger, or denial, or ridicule. He was prepared for Crowley to disappear for several days, or to weep.

Instead, Crowley clenched his teeth, drew in a long, hissing breath and nodded, something that looked very much like relief crashing over his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has read and commented, it fills my heart!
> 
> Content warning in this chapter for some vague details of Crowley's rape, as well as some complicated emotions regarding same.

Crowley was kneeling on the floor, each delicate pass of Aziraphale’s fingers through his hair reminding him where he was.

He wasn’t sure when he’d ended up in such an undignified position. He’d begun the conversation standing, and had moved onto pacing shortly thereafter. Sometime during his halting recount of the events he had found himself like this, his head resting against the angel’s knee. Or perhaps it was after, in the heavy, shame-sick quiet that followed.

“I should have told you.”

_Above all else, what Crowley remembered was rage. Rage during the act, when all his thrashing and biting and threats had come to nothing, and rage afterward, when every one of his questions was met with cold, indifferent silence._

“It’s just I don’t like to think about it, and the more I didn’t say anything the more it became, you know, A Thing, that I hadn’t said anything. So I just kept…putting it off.”

_He never saw his attackers again, never knew if they were gone for good or if he’d run into them at the next staff meeting. He never learned why he’d been targeted. Had it been personal, or a case of wrong place, wrong time? Was there something he could have done to prevent it from happening? Should he have not walked down that corridor? If he had stayed quiet instead of fought back, would it have mattered? Was there anything he could do, to make sure it wouldn’t happen again?_

_Please, please, don’t let it happen again._

“Of course you figured it out. Stupid of me, thinking I could hide it from you.”

“You’re not stupid,” Aziraphale said sharply, the first thing he’d said in quite some time.

_”Shut him up, would you? Someone’s bound to hear all this racket, and I’m not in the mood to share.”_

“I do wish I’d known,” Aziraphale continued in a much softer tone. The rhythm of his fingers was steady, hypnotic. Crowley found himself closing his eyes. “I hate to think I’ve done anything to…to make it worse.” 

“Never,” Crowley said immediately. “You’ve never made it worse, angel. Promise.”

“I could have been doing more to help.”

“How?” Crowley looked up, genuinely confused. “There was nothing you could do. It’s already happened. It’s done.”

_He didn’t know how long it took for him to compose himself enough to patch up his scrapes and miracle his torn clothing back to rights. He spent the time huddled in that grimy supply closet, certain that at any second they would come back. Then had come the slinking out into the hallway, the nerve-fraying trip to the stairs to Earth, wondering if the demons he passed could smell it on him, waiting for the feel of a hand falling on the back of his neck and for the whole thing to start again._

“Well.” Aziraphale knotted his hands together, and Crowley took them between his own. “Obviously I can’t change the past, but the way you’ve been dealing with the trauma, darling… It would have been good to know that’s what you were doing, is all. I could have been more conscientious.”

“Aziraphale, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know.” Aziraphale was turning a bit pink around the ears. Even during such a difficult conversation, it amused Crowley that for all the angel had proved to have wonderfully deviant predilections in bed, he still had some trouble speaking of such things out loud. “This…dynamic, that you enjoy. All the whisking you away when I catch someone making eyes at you, telling you that no one else can touch you, I mean, that would apply to…to them, as well, yes? Anyone who might have…or might wish to hurt you.”

Crowley’s mouth opened, then shut again. He blinked.

“Bloody hell.”

Aziraphale’s brows knit. “Did that…not occur to you?”

“Are you _sure_ I’m not stupid?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale’s blush began to creep down to his neck. “I am sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to presume.”

Crowley shifted backwards until he was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Aziraphale, instead of kneeling at his feet. He stared at his hands, trying to adjust to the concept Aziraphale had just thrown at him. 

“Suppose you’re right,” he said. “Does it…does it mean we have to stop?”

“Stop…this?” Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t know. Would you prefer that we did?”

“No.” 

“Well, then perhaps we shouldn’t. I’d hate to deprive us of something we both enjoy. Especially if it’s been, er, helping you to cope.”

Crowley nodded. He felt unmoored, he realized, as if he could not entirely rely on gravity to hold him to the earth.

“Could we go upstairs?”

——

The flat above the bookshop had spent the first century or so of its existence as more storage room than living space. The bedroom, in particular, was still heaped with books, most of them too fragile or too peculiar in topic to risk falling into the hands of the unwashed masses that came into the shop. The bed was more of an afterthought. It had seen more use in the year Aziraphale and Crowley had been lovers than it had in all of Aziraphale’s bachelor years put together.

He kept promising Crowley he would upgrade to something bigger, something with a firmer mattress, and then he would forget about it. It only mattered when Crowley was here, and he always had other things on his mind, during those times.

Take this moment. Yes, he was getting a bit of a crick in his spine from the mattress’s total lack of meaningful support and yes, Crowley’s legs just barely fell short of dangling over the edge, but none of that mattered. What mattered was the demon in his arms, and the humbling amount of trust he had shown himself capable of.

Aziraphale was sitting with his back against the headboard. Crowley sat slotted up against him, his back to the angel’s chest. They’d both changed into loose sleeping clothes, although neither one of them had expressed a desire to sleep anytime soon. 

Crowley’s arms were crossed over his midsection, with Aziraphale gripping his wrists, holding them in place. Their breaths rose and fell in easy harmony. Aziraphale could not see Crowley’s face, but he could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart through the silk he wore, could feel the tiny shift of muscles and joints as Crowley melted into his embrace.

“Say it,” Crowley whispered. “Please.”

Aziraphale obliged after a soft kiss to the side of the demon’s neck. “You’re mine,” he sighed, feeling the shudder he knew would follow vibrate through him. “You’ve always been mine, haven’t you?”

Crowley tilted his head back until it rested against Aziraphale’s shoulder, the long line of his throat exposed. 

“Yesss.”

“Such a fool I was, for such a long time,” Aziraphale went on. “How different things could have been, if I’d known you were mine for the asking all along.”

There was a sound, then, something not quite forceful enough to be a gasp but definitely suggestive of one. Aziraphale waited a moment for his words to sink in, waited for Crowley to redirect things if he so chose. Waited for signs some boundary had been crossed. But Crowley remained relaxed in Aziraphale’s arms, and after a couple more deep breaths Aziraphale felt safe enough to continue.

“I should have claimed you right there in the Garden,” he whispered. “Marked you for all of creation to see.”

He kissed Crowley’s sigil, that tender spot right by his ear, and earned another sharp intake of breath.

“Sent you out into the world to make trouble, knowing no matter how many wicked things you did or how many people you tempted, you would always come back to me.”

In reality, Aziraphale knew such notions were outside the realms of possibility. There had been little trust between them, in those early days, and if there had been attraction it was of a twisted, destructive sort, the same attraction that leads otherwise stable humans standing on high precipices to briefly entertain the idea of jumping. 

But he could be better, in this fantasy. Aziraphale could be a good and loving partner from the start, and Crowley could be safe.

What was the harm in pretending such a thing was possible?

“Imagine going back to Hell like that,” he encouraged, giving Crowley’s wrists a gentle squeeze. “Sitting in those meetings with my teeth marks all under your clothes. Telling your superiors how wicked you’ve been, knowing the whole time that an angel owns you.”

“Fuck,” Crowley muttered, squirming a bit for the first time. Aziraphale smiled against the soft skin of his neck.

“Of course, I’d have to check you over as soon as you got back, to make sure no one else had gotten any ideas. I’d close the shop and be waiting for you at your flat, I think. That way I could just have you strip the moment you got inside.”

As he spoke, Aziraphale was peppering kisses up and down Crowley’s neck, occasionally flicking a tongue against the shell of his ear or nipping at an earlobe. No deep bites, yet, just enough touch to ensure that every nerve in Crowley’s body was awake and at attention. 

“I know you have that lovely big bed, but the light in the siting room is better, so I think I would just lay you out on the table in there.” “Sitting room” was a laughable term, in Aziraphale’s opinion; the only chair in the room was that ridiculous throne, and sitting in it for any length of time seemed a thankless exercise in futility and neck cramps. But that, too, could be ignored in favor of narrative flow for the moment.

“I’d go over every inch of you like that, making sure I recognized every mark on your body, making sure I knew the story behind each one. Each delightful noise you made when I gave it to you.”

“I don’t always make noise,” Crowley protested weakly.

“Perhaps you don’t right now, darling, but remember, in this story I’ve had thousands of years to learn exactly how to touch you. I think I’d get any sound I wanted out of you, given that amount of time.”

“Ngk. Right, then.” Crowley tugged a bit on his arms, testing the strength of Aziraphale’s grip on his wrists. “And if you found something that shouldn’t be there? Would you…” There was a click in his throat as he swallowed. “Punish me?”

“I should think that depends.” Aziraphale let his teeth graze the pulse in Crowley’s neck. The demon whimpered. “Are you suggesting you’d be unfaithful, my love?”

“No, I’d never,” Crowley shuddered. “Never, angel, promise. But what if…what if someone tried to…to make me? Tried to take me from you?”

Aziraphale hesitated. He knew this to be dangerous ground, now that he could place it in the context of Crowley’s trauma. He feared his ability to say hurtful things, intentionally or no. Feared Crowley’s eagerness to please would keep him from speaking up if a line was crossed. He wished they had some way to check in without breaking the spell, some way to reaffirm Crowley’s consent without jarring him from this relaxed state.

It was something he would need to look into, later. For now, he took his cue from Crowley and hoped for the best.

“Well, such a thing would hardly warrant punishment, would it?” He sucked at a spot between Crowley’s neck and shoulder, leaving a sweet patch of redness behind. Crowley made a little noise in his throat that carried what almost sounded like disappointment. Aziraphale paused once more. He knew what Crowley was driving at with this talk of “punishment”, but he had no intention of indulging the idea that being assaulted was a sign of wrongdoing on Crowley’s part. They were going to need to have a serious talk about such backward ways of thinking, when all was said and done.

“Of course, you’d need to be reminded that you’re mine,” Aziraphale allowed. “Perhaps reminded quite sternly. There might be a little pain.” He bit down on Crowley’s neck, then, the guttural sound the demon made in response resonating through his teeth. “But you don’t mind that, do you, love?”

“Nuh- no,” Crowley gasped. His head slumped forward when Aziraphale let him go, and over his shoulder Aziraphale could see the outline of his cock hard against his thigh.

“Then it isn’t punishment.” Aziraphale added hard little nips between the words, holding onto Crowley’s wrists as the demon began to squirm. “Nor would it all be painful. I’d need to remind you that no one loves you better than I can, after all.”

“Yes, yes, tell me…”

“I’d taste you, taste _all_ of you…make you scream my name…fuck you until you couldn’t take it anymore, until my spend was dripping out of you.”

“ _Angel!_ ”

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek, startled by the blueness of his own language and grateful that Crowley couldn’t see the abashed look on his face. At any rate it was clear the demon didn’t mind. Aziraphale could see a damp spot forming on the black silk Crowley wore, right where the tip of his prick would be. 

“Goodness,” he murmured. “Are you going to come just from thinking about it?”

“I will if you keep saying things like _that_ ,” Crowley panted. He was bucking his hips as much as his restrained position would allow, trying to muster up the merest hint of friction from the silk against his skin. Aziraphale smirked, and Crowley’s clothing vanished. Clasped naked against Aziraphale’s chest, his cock twitched helplessly between his legs, totally deprived of stimulation. Aziraphale hooked his ankles around Crowley’s so that his legs remained apart, and gently kissed his sigil.

“Show me.”

“Bassstard,” Crowley moaned, twisting side to side to no avail.

“Come on, dear, I have faith in you,” Aziraphale teased. “Where was I? Ah, yes. Perhaps some bed rest would be the ticket in such circumstances. You always did come back rather exhausted from those trips to Hell.”

“Mm.” The sound was part agreement, part question. Uncertainty as to where Aziraphale was going with this.

“I think the most sensible thing to do would simply be to tie you to the bed and leave you there for, oh, a week should be sufficient, don’t you think?”

“I…” Crowley was unraveling, losing both his speech and his posture as Aziraphale’s words washed over him. He was struggling heedlessly to get his arms free now. Aziraphale knew the grip he was being forced to use would leave lurid red circles when they were done. 

“Naked and spread open so I could have you as I pleased. Of course I’d take care of you; clean you up, bring you water, watch over you while you slept. You’d have nothing to worry about, nothing at all, nothing to do but lie there. My beautiful, precious toy.”

“Nnn…Aziraphale, please, I need-“

“I know exactly what you need,” Aziraphale interrupted. “And unlike you, Crowley, I know the difference between what you _need_ and what you _want_.”

“Splitting hairs, aren’t we?”

“Nonsense.” In a few supernaturally quick movements, Aziraphale released Crowley’s wrists, pulled the demon’s arms behind his back and secured them with his own arm, then used his free hand to grip Crowley’s hair and yank his head back. “You _want_ me to touch your cock, or to let you touch yourself. But you don’t need it.”

“I ought to…discorporate right now. Just to show you.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Aziraphale twisted the hand that held Crowley’s hair, forcing the demon to look at him. “Come untouched for me, gorgeous.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Crowley moaned.

“Then you don’t get to come.” Crowley whined piteously, and Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. I know you’ll get there.”

Crowley huffed in disbelief. His narrow chest was heaving, his cock a deep, angry shade of red. Aziraphale spoke right into his ear, warm and secretive.

“You’re going to come right now, and then I’ll let you suck me off. Because I know you _need_ to show me just how grateful you are to be mine.”

As he spoke, he cheated, just a little bit, angelic magic enfolding the both of them in a sense of warmth and safety and carefree bliss. Just enough to give Crowley the push that he needed.

Crowley growled, low and desperate deep inside his chest, and then his back arched as he came in sharp, urgent pulses. Finally his posture slackened and he relaxed, transfixed as come spurted over his own stomach and ribs, arms still behind his back even as Aziraphale’s grip on them was released.

“Fuck,” he panted. “I…you… _fuck_ …”

“Good boy,” Aziraphale purred, sliding his arms around Crowley’s waist despite the mess and squeezing him close. “Sweet, dear, perfect boy.”

Crowley twisted his neck around and kissed Aziraphale hungrily, open-mouthed, then flipped himself over to all fours. His eyes were huge, fiery yellow, ignited with desire so fierce that Aziraphale did the prudent thing and snapped his clothing out of existence before it could get damaged. Crowley didn’t blink, didn’t slow his pace at all, just fell between Aziraphale’s legs and swallowed down his cock with obscene, glorious abandon.

“I love you,” Aziraphale gasped as he threaded his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I love you…so much.”

The sentiment wasn’t returned out loud, but it didn’t need to be. Worship, there was no other word for the way Crowley touched him. Aziraphale had been treated with reverence at times on Earth, by humans who had glimpsed his true form (whether he’d shown them on purpose or whether they’d figured it out on their own, too clever for their own good). And he’d had lovers, most of whom had been gentle and kind, a few who had sensed what he truly was. None of them had known him like Crowley knew him. No one else had seen how deeply flawed Aziraphale could be, how foolish and misguided, and chosen to treat him with such care anyway. 

_I’d do anything for you,_ he thought as those beautiful eyes rolled up to meet his. _Anything._

Crowley sucked him until he was a twitching mess, then crawled up to cover his chest and neck with soft, hungry kisses. 

“More,” he pleaded, nuzzling at Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Please.”

Aziraphale laughed and pulled him in for a kiss. “Insatiable fiend.”

Crowley nodded and began to work his way back down. Aziraphale stopped him with a hand on his cheek.

“Are you sure, love? You don’t have to, you know. That bit about showing gratitude, I didn’t mean-“

“I know.” Crowley tilted his head to kiss along Aziraphale’s palm. There was no fear in his face, no desperation or self-loathing or greed, none of those things that Aziraphale had been taught were all that demons could feel. Only love.

 _You’ll never have to feel forsaken again,_ he thought. 

_I’ll do anything to make sure you know that._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for a few more unpleasant details of past events, and discussion of rape fantasies later on.

Crowley couldn’t sleep.

The cool, austere confines of his flat remained as comfortable for him as they always had, but sleep eluded him in every form, on every surface available to him. Somewhere around what had once been called the witching hour he started counting molecules in the ceiling, but gave up somewhere in the seven-millions. After that, he just stared and let his mind wander.

It was no use. He wanted Aziraphale there.

The two of them had been alone on Earth for a long time. They had gotten used to a certain amount of distance, not only from their own kind but from each other as well. It made sense to ensure that they both had breaks, time to pursue their separate interests, time to miss one another. Yearning, after all, had been such a fundamental part of their relationship. Removing it all at once couldn’t be wise.

They had come to their predetermined time to part for a few days, and Aziraphale had not suggested that they put it off a little longer, so Crowley certainly wasn’t going to be the one to ask for it. 

So what if he had a few nightmares? So what if talking about…what had happened that time in Hell had stirred up a few bad memories? Memories was all they were, now. They couldn’t hurt him.

He closed his eyes, and felt himself start to drift off.

A sound echoed deep inside his mind. A low, stuttering buzz, the sound of a fluorescent light flicking on and off. He remembered looking up at that blasted thing and wondering how long the bulb had been dying, how many more centuries it might struggle to perform its function. He’d started focusing on the fluorescent light shortly after the second rapist slammed his head against the floor. He’d been too dizzy to struggle after that, so he’d just stared up at the lights and wondered if his brain was doing the same thing, flickering uselessly, rattling between light and dark.

No. He couldn’t sleep. He opened his eyes.

Nothing about this was new. He’d always dealt with it on his own, and there was no reason he couldn’t continue to do so. That feeling of hot pincers gripping the back of his head, the yawning sensation in his stomach, all familiar. All treatable.

 _Don’t hide from it_ , he told himself. _Face it head-on. You’re a demon. You can handle it._

Right. He had gone down to Hell to attend a seminar on Lust in American Politics. Lots of demons from overseas divisions there, plenty who weren’t in his department. That, most likely, was why he didn’t recognize his attackers. 

He’d walked past that supply room thousands of times, was only vaguely aware of there being a door there anymore. There had been nothing, and then there had been four hands on him at once, on his arms, his hair, grabbing the back of his coat and yanking him off balance. He’d fought…

Crowley rolled onto his side, let his face sink into the pillow. The details of how he’d fought didn’t matter. He’d lost.

 _Coward,_ he told himself.

“Yup,” he answered out loud, and moved on. 

He’d fought. He’d lost. They told him he might enjoy it if he calmed down a little and he told them to piss off and then the details got sort of hazy after that…

No, they didn’t. He told himself that because he didn’t like to think about it. It seemed a sort of defeat in itself to admit that he remembered every word they’d said, remembered the smell of it, remembered the exact moment he went from hoping for some kind of rescue to hoping they’d just get on with it so it could be over.

_”Keep him on his back. I want to see if he cries.”_

“Aziraphale,” Crowley sighed into the pillow, before he knew what he was saying. The cotton was damp against his face.

_What about Aziraphale? He wasn’t there. He didn’t even know about it until this week._

_What if he had? What if he’d known before?_

“The fuck are you on about?” he muttered.

_If he’d known. If you’d already been his, and he’d been watching over you. He could have…_

“He could have saved me,” Crowley whispered, and felt his face grow hot.

With a tentative snap of his fingers, Crowley extinguished every light inside the flat and drew all the curtains shut. Wrapped in velvety, comforting darkness, Crowley rolled onto his back and let that last thought spool out.

Hell. The closet. The hands. The fluorescent light. And then, a voice, soft and yet also sharp.

“Excuse me. What do you two think you’re doing with him?”

A new light, filling up the tiny room, warm and bright and unyielding. The strangers who had grabbed him cowering, begging, a mistake, just an accident, never do it again, angel, we promise.

“Begone.”

Pleas for mercy, screams, then absence. The hands on Crowley vanishing, leaving him huddled in that warm light. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice, devoid of anger now that the threat had been banished. “Oh, my darling, don’t be afraid. You’re safe now.”

The angel before him, holy aspect fully on display, light cascading from him. Aziraphale, who always took such exacting, benevolent care of those things which he deemed worthy. And there was Crowley, kneeling at his feet, because Aziraphale wanted him there.

“Come here, my love,” the angel commanded. “Let me remind you who you belong to.”

 _It didn’t happen like that_ , the part of his brain that never knew when to shut up insisted. _Even if he’d been there, it wouldn’t have gone like_ that. _It doesn’t even make sense._

Crowley shoved those thoughts away. Things could make sense later. 

In the memory that never happened, he rose shakily to his feet and stepped into the angel’s arms. The tips of Aziraphale’s fingers skated over his cheeks, along his jaw, before guiding him into a deep, greedy kiss. A hand on the back of his neck held him in place while Aziraphale tasted him, lips and tongue and teeth coated in the essence of pure, righteous desire.

In his flat, in the merciful cocoon of darkness, Crowley let his hand drift below his waist to rub against his stirring cock. 

This fantasy version of Aziraphale knew what Crowley longed for without having to be told, so there was no hesitation when he curled his fingers in Crowley’s torn shirt and ripped it fully open. His hands slid over Crowley’s ribs, his chest, fingers pressing in just a bit too hard. 

“Mine,” the angel hissed, pushing the tattered remains off Crowley’s shoulders. 

“Yes,” Crowley gasped out loud, in the dark, imagining teeth grazing his neck, his collarbone. 

“No one else’s.” Hands mapped his skin, memorizing every ridge and curve of him. “No one else will ever touch you again, do you hear me?”

Crowley nodded, heart beating wildly in his throat. Restless fingers clamped down on a nipple through the slippery fabric of his sleeping clothes, twisted until pain flared electric-bright behind his eyes.

“I’m going to have you in every way _they_ meant to have you, right now.”

In the fantasy, Crowley bit his lip and shook his head. “No, angel, we can’t. It’s too dangerous, someone will find us.”

In the flat, he pulled his cock free from the waistband of his pants and stroked himself slowly from root to tip.

“Don’t you worry about that, darling,” Aziraphale purred. He snapped his fingers, and Crowley’s hands were bound in front of him, the thin silken cords biting into his wrists just right, just enough. “You’re safe with me.”

“Wait,” Crowley protested, but Aziraphale quieted him with a soft kiss and then pushed him to his knees.

Crowley’s grip on himself was feverish, almost punishing. Forcing himself to slow down, he summoned some slickness to his palm and groaned out loud at the change in friction. Past the point of caring what was healthy or advisable or realistic to be thinking about, he shamelessly fucked into his loose fist while inside his mind Aziraphale seized his hair with an iron grip.

“You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? I have no use for demons who can’t do as they’re told.”

“I’ll be good,” Crowley whimpered. “I’ll be good, I promise, just please, don’t hurt me.”

“Show me how good you can be.”

Fantasy-Aziraphale was unyielding, with none of the actual angel’s solicitousness or warmth. He demanded Crowley prove every ounce of his worth on his knees before deigning to shove him roughly to the floor and take him on his back. He held Crowley’s bound arms above his head and declared his ownership over the demon between slow, bruising thrusts. Above them, the holy light burned strong and steady.

“Someone will hear,” Crowley moaned. “Someone will find us, we’re not safe.”

“Shhh.” Aziraphale put his hand over Crowley’s mouth. “There’s nothing to worry about. Just relax.”

_A sense memory, then, something jagged and sharp jutting up from beneath the surface, but he could shove that away as well, because Someone help him, he was so close…_

With the hand that wasn’t stroking himself, Crowley covered his own mouth, imagining Aziraphale’s eyes locked on his, telling him, “You’re safe, love, we’re safe, I’ve got you, just let go.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and hissed against his palm, tongue changing shape behind his teeth. His hips jerked as he spilled into his hand, his orgasm hitting him with the force of a punch to the gut…

And then fading far too quickly, leaving him spent and shivering and alone.

He sank back into the mattress, reflexively magicking himself clean, feeling bizarrely like he’d somehow been unfaithful.

For all that Aziraphale was a patient and indulgent lover, Crowley doubted the angel would approve of what had been going on inside his head just now. A little dirty talk was one thing, but dragging the details of the rape into it, slotting Aziraphale into that wretched experience, that had to be wrong, didn’t it?

Crowley realized he was very sleepy all of a sudden.

Fine. He might as well get a partial night’s sleep out of this. But in the morning he would have to do some serious thinking, some real soul-searching, if you’ll pardon the expression, and maybe he owed Aziraphale an apology…

He drifted off trying to think of how he might phrase such a thing.

He had no nightmares.

——

The problem-

_No, don’t think of it as a problem. That’s getting off on the wrong foot entirely._

The issue was-

_That’s really the same thing as “problem”, isn’t it?_

The _complication_ was that Aziraphale didn’t understand what had happened to Crowley. Not really.

He wasn’t naive. He’d spent enough time around humans to be able to get his head around the idea of sexual assault, as much as he might dislike to contemplate the details of it. But humans, fated as they were to live on the knife’s edge between grace and damnation, had different reasons for doing things than those of Aziraphale’s or Crowley’s ilk. He accepted it, he was often fascinated by it, and he tried his best to love them for it, even when they insisted on using their remarkable minds to cause one another pain. Angels and demons saw things differently, their lives possessed different shapes, and Aziraphale supposed there was still enough of the wide-eyed innocent in him to believe his own kind (and therefore Crowley’s, for they’d all been the same, once) was above that sort of thing.

It stung, to be wrong again. 

In a way, Aziraphale was relieved that Crowley had no idea who his attackers were or where they might be found. If he had, Aziraphale would have had to seriously consider destroying them. There had been a time when he hadn’t thought himself capable of such a thing. It had ended on a bus from Tadfield to London, when he’d squeezed Crowley’s hand and decided, not just wished or hoped or prayed but _decided_ , that no harm would come to his demon ever again. He would destroy to make sure that remained the truth. He would Fall, if he had to.

He still would, if it came to that. But he was not so pure as to feel no fear at the prospect, and so there was relief, craven and concealed but real enough, that he would not have to face that fear today. Not for this.

What mattered, more than anything, was taking care of Crowley. And Aziraphale didn’t know how.

Crowley insisted that nothing needed to change, that he’d been dealing with “all of that” on his own for decades now and Aziraphale need not trouble himself. Surely that couldn’t be right. There must be things Aziraphale could be doing better, ways he could be more sensitive, more intuitive, more worthy of the trust Crowley had put in him.

It had taken him so long to accept that he wasn’t good enough for Heaven. But he could still be good enough for Crowley, could be _perfect_ for Crowley, if only he could understand what he needed to do.

Of course he understood that Crowley needed space on the issue. Aziraphale was happy to provide it. For the next couple of weeks, together and apart, they passed the time in much the same way they always did. Aziraphale managed the bookshop and Crowley gravitated in and out in his own particular orbit. Sometimes he’d sleep over, and they would make gentle love in the small hours of the morning and wake up clasped in each other’s arms, and sometimes he’d kiss Aziraphale goodnight and go back to his flat alone. It was wonderful, but something inside Aziraphale waited, restless, for what was coming next. Whatever it might be.

He found out late on a Sunday evening, as he sat up in bed reading. Crowley was resting in his favorite position, head in Aziraphale’s lap, and Aziraphale had assumed he’d dozed off and was stroking his hair as gently as possible so as not to wake him. It came as something of a surprise, then, when Crowley spoke, so much so that the words didn’t really sink in at first.

“Was wondering if we could try something.”

“What’s that, love?” Their conversation before the last hour or so of contended silence had been about redecorating the bedroom, if memory served, and Aziraphale thought he’d come up with some other point regarding that discussion.

“Please don’t be angry,” Crowley continued, and that caught Aziraphale’s attention. He marked his spot in the book and set it aside. “We don’t have to do it, obviously, if you don’t want.”

“I won’t be angry,” Aziraphale promised.

“Right. It’s just…” Crowley took a deep breath. “The stuff I like you to say in bed. You’re right, I think, that it’s partly to do with my…with what happened to me. In Hell. But you must understand, angel, that’s not why I want you, it’s not, y’know, _therapy_ , me wanting you. I was thinking about you for centuries before that happened, get me?”

“I do.” Aziraphale’s fingers were still in Crowley’s hair, but they’d ceased their movements. It was very important, in that moment, that nothing distract or derail Crowley from what he needed to say.

“I just need you to know I’m not using you, yeah? But I guess things get scrambled together, I don’t know, I’m not a bloody psychologist, but the fact is I had thoughts like this before and I still have them now, even after what happened, and I don’t…I don’t want to be scared of that, you know?”

“I’m afraid I may be losing the plot now.”

“Right, of course, I’m making a mess of this. Er. It’s like this. Sometimes I think about you, ah, saying the stuff you normally say, how you own me and all, and tying me up, and I think about…pretending not to want it. Like fighting back a bit, or saying ‘no, stop,’ or, I don’t know, you having to be a bit mean. Shut me up, like.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue softly as he turned this information over in his mind. Tried to picture Crowley submitting to him out of fear instead of pleasure, of saying cruel words instead of loving ones as he took him. It frightened him, but he couldn’t deny there was some curiosity there as well. 

“Could you, er, please say something? I’m worried you’re angry after all.”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale said, looking down at Crowley’s nervous face and flashing him a quick smile. “Just…adjusting to the idea.”

“Right. That makes sense.” Crowley squirmed.

“Would you be able to, ah, elaborate a little? Did you have a particular scenario in mind?”

“Uhh…” After a few seconds of vague consonants, Crowley tried to answer, his voice partially muffled against Aziraphale’s shirt. “There’s a few. Um. Sometimes I think it’s like the old days, when we were, y’know, supposed to be enemies. You break into my flat and, ah, punish me. For being so bad.”

Aziraphale was amused to see Crowley turning scarlet, and gently stroked his cheek. “Go on.”

“Or maybe I’m hurt or sick, and you’re taking care of me, but you lose patience waiting for me to get better and just…do whatever you want. While I’m too weak to stop you.”

“Hmm.” Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to shift uncomfortably; something about the scenes Crowley was describing was having an undeniable physical effect on him, even if it also made him feel a little ill. “You know I’d never actually do something like that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, course I do.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s fingers. “I know none of this makes sense.”

“Perhaps not, dear, but I don’t think you need to be ashamed of it, either.” He resumed stroking Crowley’s hair. “Is there more?”

Crowley sighed. “I…don’t think you’ll like it.” He paused, then took a deep breath and began to speak in a tumbled rush. “So, I told you about what happened in Hell. Those other demons. And that I don’t like to think about it. And one of the reasons I don’t like to think about it, is sometimes, when I do, I can’t help but…feel ways about it. Especially now that we’re together, and I had those fantasies about you before, so now I…sometimes I think about being back there. In that closet. And you find me and stop them, or you find me, um…afterward, and…”

He pressed his face against Aziraphale’s stomach. Aziraphale took a deep breath, to ensure his voice would be as calm and soothing as possible when he spoke.

“Do I hurt you, in this fantasy?”

“Not, like, _hurt_ me, hurt me,” Crowley blurted. “Just like we do now. But maybe I try to fight you, or I’m, uh, already hurt. Bleeding. And you don’t heal me, cause you don’t…don’t want to wait.” He hid his face again. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley shivered. “I know you don’t always believe it when I say that, but _I_ do. And I always will.”

“Like I said, we don’t have to do anything with it.” Crowley sat up, took Aziraphale’s hands in his, eyes wide and vulnerable. “We could do what we’ve been doing for eternity and I’d be happy, angel, promise. But if you’d…if you’d be open to it…”

For a moment, Aziraphale very nearly said, _No, darling, I don’t think this is for me._ He could say it, he knew, and Crowley would never raise the subject again, would probably be too mortified at ever having brought it up in the first place. And really, for that reason alone, Aziraphale couldn’t refuse. Clearly the demon had been pondering this for some time and trying to work up the courage to say something; what kind of partner would Aziraphale be if he didn’t at least give it a try? 

“I’m open to it, dear heart,” he said, and the way Crowley’s eyes lit up was worth any squeamishness he might be feeling. “But I think a frank discussion about safety is called for, before we commit to anything. Do you agree?”

“Yes, of course, anything you want.“

“Wonderful. I’ve actually been doing some research of my own. If you’ll hand me those papers over there…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for CNC and complicated emotional reactions to same. This fic is almost complete- I believe next week's installment will be the final chapter.

Aziraphale announced his presence in the plant room with a gentle, “Good morning, aren’t we all looking lovely today?” before sliding up next to Crowley and hugging him about the waist. “Especially you, my dear.”

“Morning, love,” Crowley answered, turning his head to accept a quick kiss on the cheek before resuming his perusal of a trembling row of succulents. “There’s tea in the kitchen, if you want.”

“Yes, I found it. Color?”

“Er, should be just the regular…ah.” Crowley turned fully around in Aziraphale’s arms, mouth twisting into a wry smirk. “Green. Trying to trip me up on purpose now, are you?”

“I just want to be sure you’ll remember in the heat of the moment.”

“I’ll remember, angel. Green means go on, yellow means slow down, red means stop. Which one of us actually knows how to drive?”

Aziraphale laid his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt to be cautious, darling. What we’ve talked about isn’t without a certain amount of risk.”

Crowley laughed, partly from Aziraphale’s words and partly from the angel’s curls tickling the side of his face. “Nothing worth doing is without _some_ risk.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Well, that’s simply not true. There are plenty of things that are completely enjoyable and perfectly safe.”

“Name one.”

“Drinking tea,” Aziraphale answered, breakfast still at the forefront of his mind.

“Yeah? Ever burn your tongue?”

“Um…reading.”

“Paper cuts. Nasty business, that.”

“Of course. What about sitting in silent contemplation, then?”

“Now, angel, you know what they say about idle hands.”

With an exasperated laugh, Aziraphale gave Crowley another squeeze about the middle and let him go. “Seems I’ve more courageous plans for the morning than I thought. Will you be coming back to the shop with me today?”

“Nah.” Crowley knotted his hands together. “Thought it might be fun to, uh, do some tempting out on my own. Make things seem a bit more real, when we, y’know. Later.”

“Oh?” The only movements from Aziraphale were a slight straightening in posture and the raising of an eyebrow, but Crowley sensed the change in demeanor all the same, and bit his lip nervously. “Well. Don’t let me keep you from your work, then.”

He leaned in for another kiss, then turned to whisper low in Crowley’s ear. “I’ll be back here at ten o’clock. Do be ready for me, I’ll be in no mood to wait.”

Gooseflesh crept over Crowley’s neck as the demon shivered. “Yesss, angel.”

“Good boy.” Aziraphale’s face regained its sunny smile once more, and he went off to finish up his tea.

——

At nine-fifteen, Crowley gave up on trying to pay attention to whatever was on television and went to take a shower.

He took his time under the steam and spray and dried himself off carefully, but it was still twenty minutes to ten when he emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist and his damp hair falling in his eyes. Unwilling to seek another distraction, he slipped naked into bed and tried to calm his nerves with slow, even breaths.

He sensed Aziraphale’s presence, an electric charge in the air that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and then he heard the door to the flat opening. Closing his eyes, Crowley focused on his breathing, trying to remain the unsuspecting victim. He curled himself into a tight ball, his back to the bedroom’s entrance. He heard footsteps in the hallway, soft and measured, growing ever-so-slightly in volume until they came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh, Crowley,” the angel sighed, voice heavy with disappointment. “What happened to you?”

Crowley didn’t dare look, no matter how much he wanted to. Seeming too eager wasn’t the point of this. This was about being _taken_ , about Aziraphale’s claim on him being so strong not even Crowley himself could deny it. It wouldn’t do for Crowley to throw himself into Aziraphale’s arms at the first words the angel spoke.

He drew his knees up closer to his chest, huddled his head between his forearms. He heard soft footsteps, felt the mattress dip as Aziraphale sat down next to him, and then, finally, a hand tracing the vulnerable curve of his spine.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice was gentle, but there was a hint of a warning there as well, a displeasure at being ignored. “Can you hear me?”

Crowley peeked out at Aziraphale’s careworn face peering down at him, and almost forgot what he intended to say in this moment.

“Aziraphale,” he said, tripping a bit over the consonants. “You sss-shouldn’t be here. I’m not- you shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“What happened, my love?” Aziraphale continued to stroke his back, soothing, hypnotic. 

“Nothing,” Crowley answered hurriedly. “Nothing, just…had a run-in with a couple of other demons, roughed me up a bit. I’ll be fine, angel. You should go.”

“You don’t look fine.” A hand curled possessively around Crowley’s hip. “You’re trembling.”

He was. “It’s nothing,” Crowley lied again. “Just go, Aziraphale. Leave me alone.”

“I will not.” A tug, and Crowley was forced to roll onto his back. “Stop being ridiculous and let me heal you. Where does it hurt?”

Crowley’s felt his face start to burn and tried to roll onto his side again. Aziraphale was able to hold him in place with no more than a hand on the center of his chest. “It doesn’t matter,” Crowley whispered. “It’s over, now.”

“Crowley.” Sharpness was creeping into Aziraphale’s voice, sharpness and impatience. “ _Who did this to you?_ ”

“Dunno.” Under that stern blue gaze, Crowley could only glance up fearfully before sliding his eyes away again. “Swear, angel, I never saw them before, I didn’t want… You have to believe me, I would never have let them-“

“I believe you.” Aziraphale toed off his shoes and stretched out next to Crowley on the bed, forming a comforting barrier between him and the doorway. “I know you would never let anyone else have you willingly. But that’s not what happened, is it?”

“No.” Crowley rolled to face Aziraphale and buried his face against the angel’s chest. “I tried, I tried to fight them, but they…they…”

“It’s alright.” Strong fingers combed through his damp hair and brushed the fleeting tears off his cheekbones. “They’re gone. They can’t hurt you again.”

There was another electric sort of pulse as angelic wards went up around them, encasing the bedroom and expanding out to include the rest of the flat. Crowley smiled, and it squeezed a few more tears out of his eyes. For all that this was just a game, Aziraphale’s expense of effort to actually protect the two of them made Crowley swoon a little. He almost ruined the moment by leaning in for a kiss.

Of course, the wards also meant that Crowley couldn’t leave. That realization must have changed something in his face, because suddenly Aziraphale’s hand closed firmly around his left wrist.

“Color?” the angel whispered.

Crowley’s heart began to hammer in his chest. “Green,” he answered.

Aziraphale nodded, then rolled the both of them, pushing Crowley onto his back and coming to rest on top of him. 

“Well.” He pinned Crowley’s wrists above his head and for a moment just looked at him, taking in his wide, scared eyes and shivering form. “I suppose we should get the hard part over with first.”

“What?” Crowley struggled to free his arms, just a little, but Aziraphale’s grip was as steady as always. “I don’t understand. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to heal you,” Aziraphale said. “I promise. I’m going to take care of you in every way you need. I just need to do this first.”

“Do what?” Crowley tried harder to snake his wrists free and was rewarded with a digging of nails into his skin for the trouble. “Aziraphale, that _hurts_.”

“It’s going to hurt a little. It can’t be helped.” 

Crossing Crowley’s wrists to grip them one-handed, Aziraphale reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a neat length of thin white rope. At the sight of it Crowley tried to use his considerable core strength to throw the angel off of him. It might have worked- Aziraphale didn’t seem prepared for how violently Crowley would react- but Crowley used the space created to try and tug his wrists free again instead of rolling away or kicking out with his legs, and soon found himself pinned once more. He didn’t struggle when Aziraphale bound his wrists together and secured them to the headboard, just looked up with pleading eyes.

“Wait,” he begged. “Wait, angel, whatever you think you need to do, just wait a minute. Just…let me rest, alright, and I’ll do whatever you want afterward. Please?”

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale answered, his voice brittle enough that the apology sounded more like an accusation. “It has to be now. I can’t take proper care of you until you’re all mine again.”

“I’m yours,” Crowley promised. “I am, you don’t need to do anything. _Please_ , Aziraphale, I can’t do this.”

“You’ll be fine. Just be still.”

“No, no, angel, it’s going to hurt, _don’t_.”

“Shhh.” With Crowley’s hands out of the way, Aziraphale was now pulling the sheets down, exposing him to the flat’s cool air and the angel’s merciless scrutiny. Even in this pitiful state Crowley was already hard, but Aziraphale ignored this. Instead he stood, leaving Crowley on the bed squirming and cold, and began to remove his own clothing piece by careful piece.

Crowley shut his eyes, worried that the sight of his gorgeous angel undressing might cause him to forget his motivation. “Please don’t do this,” he whispered, surprised to feel the words stick in his throat. He felt dizzy.

“You’ll be fine,” Aziraphale repeated. He joined Crowley on the bed once more. Seconds later hands were on Crowley’s knees, forcing his legs apart, and for the first time since they started this a real bolt of panic shot through his chest. It had hurt so badly, like this, with his legs bent back until he’d thought his hips would split, wondering if he might just snap in two…

“Yellow,” he gasped. “Aziraphale, wait…let me turn over.”

The stern look on Aziraphale’s face melted instantly. “Of course, darling, if that helps…are you sure you’re alright?”

“M’fine,” Crowley promised as he untangled their limbs and rolled onto his knees. Right away that felt better; he wasn’t as cold, and his bound arms stretched in front of him to form an easy cradle for his head. Aziraphale ran a gentle hand up his back, and that helped even more.

“Green,” he said, after savoring the touch for a moment.

For several seconds there was no reply. Crowley was just about to turn his head round and say something when Aziraphale’s teeth sank into the tender spot between his neck and shoulder.

Crowley’s sharp grunt of pain was echoed by a deep growl from Aziraphale, followed by another bite, this one just to the left of his shoulder blade.

“You must trust me,” Aziraphale’s voice shuddered through him. “This may seem cruel, but I promise it’s for the best.” 

Strong hands gripped his waist. Crowley felt something warm and slick probing against his opening and realized with a giddy sort of plunge that Aziraphale meant to take him without preparing him first. He’d done a little of that work himself ahead of time, in the shower, but there would still be pain. The twin currents of fear and arousal threatened to sweep him from reality completely. His angel had him, his angel was going to hurt him and there was nothing Crowley could do, nothing but accept it, to try and be worthy of the pain.

“I can’t,” Crowley whimpered. “I can’t, Aziraphale, it’s too much, stop, please, stopstop _stop_ -“

Aziraphale ignored his pleading, easing into him slowly but inexorably. Crowley strained at the ropes, keening as he was breached and filled, dangerously close to climax just from the naked shock of it. Still he begged for mercy, and still he was denied. When Aziraphale began to move in him his awareness narrowed only to those sensations. Pinioned, impaled, helpless, as he was meant to be, fallen and corrupted creature that he was. 

“No,” he was sobbing. “No, no, no.” Over and over, although he couldn’t be sure what he was refusing anymore. What point was there in denial when the worst had already happened? 

“My Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and the words came down on Crowley like warm rain. He raised his head a little, desperate for more, and Aziraphale took one hand off his waist to stroke his hair. “I know it hurts, my love, but you’re doing so well. Taking it all so beautifully.”

“I…” The effect of the praise was dizzying, overwhelming. He was an object, wasn’t he? A specimen, a thing, something to be used and thrown away.

‘You’re so good.” Aziraphale moved his hand around to cradle Crowley’s jaw, turn his head to see his eyes. “So fine. My treasure.”

“I’m not,” Crowley choked out, wrenching his head away. Eye contact was too much, brought that roiling mix of shame and desire to an unbearable peak. 

The praise continued, soft and sweet in counterpoint to the pain of being fucked. Crowley was lost, floating, aware of himself only as an extension of Aziraphale’s will. Where Aziraphale touched him became the only parts of him that mattered, and so he forgot his bound hands, his leaking eyes. When he came it snapped through him without warning, leaving him shocked and trembling in its wake, and it was Aziraphale’s hands on him that kept him from collapsing. 

He couldn’t speak anymore. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to drift in this place, where nothing but his angel could touch him.

He felt Aziraphale’s climax more keenly than his own, sensed the change in his breath and timbre that meant the angel was close and arched up into it. He didn’t want to resist anymore. What was there to resist, when there was nothing but the two of them? 

Aziraphale was whispering Crowley’s name, wrapping around him, all the heat and light in the universe condensed into a white-hot spark between them. Crowley felt it burning over his heart, reached up to clasp it close and realized his hands were free. Aziraphale had untied him, or he’d untied himself, or perhaps the ropes had simply burned away. He was lying on his side, curled up around that comforting warmth, Aziraphale holding him. 

There was nothing else.

——

It was a thought he’d had millions of times by now, but so it remained; Aziraphale was glad he’d done his reading.

In his quest to find ways they might play this game safely, Aziraphale had availed himself of a wide range of human expertise on the subject. He’d learned that this state Crowley was in now, this dreamy, drunken haze, could be desirable, even pleasurable, for one so inclined.

Aziraphale was glad to have learned that, because it would have terrified him otherwise.

He’d been, in truth, rather bracing himself in the opposite direction. Knowing Crowley as he did, and knowing what memories they were prodding at, Aziraphale had expected fury. He’d steeled himself to be cursed, insulted, to even have to endure some physical pain if Crowley fought back particularly hard. To watch Crowley melt into this state of acceptance so deeply, more deeply than Aziraphale had ever brought him with gentle encouragement and reassurances of safety, was, to say the least, disarming. He’d been expecting venom, and instead had received wine. Thick, intoxicating, and all too capable of its own slow sort of poisoning. 

But sweet. So sweet. What a precious creature he held in his arms…

Aziraphale told him as much, but Crowley was still nonverbal and responded only by nuzzling closer into their shared warmth. So utterly trusting.

 _The word,_ Aziraphale reminded himself, _is roleplay. As in playacting. There was no violation here. In the past, yes, but this experience is not that one, no matter the superficial similarities._

 _Are you sure?_ an insidious inner voice piped up. _Are you sure it didn’t feel the same for him?_

Of course Aziraphale was sure. They’d implemented the color system for that exact reason. Crowley had used it, precisely as it was intended. 

_You didn’t intend for him to be too far gone to talk,_ that voice reminded helpfully. _You think he could have called out ‘red’ then, if he needed to?_

Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley’s hair, inhaled his comforting smoky scent. They were at peace. Everything was fine.

_You really believe it’s apples and oranges, what you did and what they did? That broken little sound he made when you forced yourself inside him, you think they didn’t hear that, too? You really believe it didn’t feel good for them, the exact same way it did for you?_

“That’s enough of that,” Aziraphale whispered, hopefully too quietly for Crowley to hear him. Trying to relax, he matched his halting breaths to Crowley’s deep, even ones. Crowley would come back to himself soon enough, and they could talk. If it did turn out that this experience had stirred up too many bad memories for Crowley, if it turned out that the bad feelings outweighed the good, Aziraphale would-

- _throw yourself into the Thames_

-apologize, and they wouldn’t have to do it again. Even if they did, adjustments could be made. There was always room for improvement.

 _None more so than with you_ , that same voice said, and this time it sounded like a voice from Heaven.

Aziraphale thought about crying, but decided against it. If Crowley noticed, it would spoil everything, and he couldn’t have that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter, just a fluffy denouement. Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting, it makes me so very happy!

Coming out of it was like washing up on a beach, borne slowly to awareness in rolling, gentle waves.

Never had Crowley known his mind to be so silent, and almost as soon as he noticed it that silence began to slip away. Thoughts began to surface from the haze, streams of consciousness that were always running in the background resuming their ever-present hum. There was a sense of loss as that peace faded, but Crowley was able to relax with the knowledge that he might find it again. As long as he had Aziraphale to help him.

Crowley rolled over, meaning to give his angel a kiss and thank him for being so wonderful, but found he was alone. The blankets were rumpled and still warm, and Crowley could still faintly smell Aziraphale’s cologne, but there was no sound in the flat, no sign that the angel had merely hopped up to fetch a drink of water or a post-coital snack and would soon be returning. Outside the dim light of the bedroom, all was dark and still.

An icy finger seemed to brush against Crowley’s heart. He rolled again, bringing himself fluidly to his feet.

“Aziraphale?”

No answer, and so Crowley prowled through the doorway into the darkness of the hall. He could see in the dark well enough, but he found he didn’t need to. The light in the bathroom was on, and Crowley followed the ghostly white glow until he was standing in the doorway. Inside the bathroom the light was blinding, reflected off the gleaming black and silver surfaces in harsh contrast to the soft pink-and-cream blur that was Aziraphale. The angel was standing naked before the sink, elbows braced upon the black porcelain edge, head in his hands.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said again, more softly this time. Nevertheless, Aziraphale jumped.

“Crowley,” he whispered, straightening up and hurrying over to him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I never meant for you to wake up alone. I only came in here to freshen up a minute and I must have gotten distracted, silly me…”

Even had the lie not been so feeble, Crowley would have been able to discern the truth from Aziraphale’s red-rimmed eyes and the thick, uneven timbre of his voice. The angel had been crying.

Crowley’s stomach plunged, and for a moment everything threatened to crash in around him. That inner voice, the one that never shut up, was already hissing in the background _Your fault_ and _You ruin everything_ and _You pushed him too fast_ , and Crowley knew if he let it it would grow in volume until it drowned out everything else.

But he also knew, now, that there were ways to quiet that voice. Ways that Aziraphale had helped him find. 

What had he originally wanted? To give Aziraphale a kiss, and thank him. He still wanted that.

He pulled Aziraphale into his arms and kissed him, grateful for the way the angel sighed into it and relaxed against him.

“Thank you,” Crowley whispered when the kiss ended. “I love you so much, angel.”

“I love you too.” Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I am, but if there’s something you need so _you_ can be sure, I’m all ears.”

“Me? Goodness, no, why would I-“

Looking down, Crowley tried to imitate Aziraphale’s best Stern Look. “Have we really come this far to lie to each other, love?”

Aziraphale paused mid-sentence, mouth open. He blinked a couple of times, then admitted, “No.”

“No. Then tell me what you need.”

“Just…” Aziraphale hugged him close again. “Just to talk, I think. And to hold onto you a bit longer.”

“Sounds perfect. How about a bath?” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the taps turned themselves on. He heard Aziraphale’s laugh muffled against his neck.

“You could easily have walked over there and done that.”

“Nope. Busy holding the most beautiful angel in existence.”

Aziraphale laughed again, but there were a few more tears on his cheeks when Crowley tilted his face up for another kiss.

“I really am sorry I left you alone,” Aziraphale commented as they slipped into the bath together, settling with Crowley’s back against his chest. “I was being ridiculous, I know.”

Crowley watched the hands he loved play nervously over his stomach, and laid his own hands over them to still them.

“Would you think I was being ridiculous, if it was me who got a bit overwhelmed?”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “Of course not.”

“So why is it any different for you? What we did back there was intense. Stands to reason you might feel a bit fragile afterward.”

“I hardly have the right,” Aziraphale argued. “Not when you’ve endured so much.“

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said gently. “If you are going to sit here and claim you have zero emotional baggage, the Almighty is apt to strike you down for a liar right here. I wouldn’t even blame Her.”

That earned a small laugh, and there was a somewhat more peaceful silence for a few minutes before Aziraphale spoke up again.

“I read so much about what might happen if things went wrong. Panic attacks, disassociation, deeply unpleasant stuff, a lot of it. I told myself that as long as I made sure none of that happened, everything would be fine.”

Crowley twisted around to look the angel in the eyes. “ _Even if something like that had happened_ , everything would have been fine. Maybe not something we’d want to repeat, but I know you would take care of me. I know you’d never hurt me.”

“I did hurt you, though.” Aziraphale’s confession was a tiny, fearful thing. “I’ve hurt you lots of times.”

“Only pain I’ve asked for. You know that.”

“I know that. But, I can’t help but wonder sometimes what that makes _me_ , that I can do such things to you and…and enjoy it. I love you so much, Crowley, and the thought of anyone else hurting you makes me so _angry_ , but even that anger…it feels a bit good, I don’t understand it.”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“Course.” Crowley rolled his eyes exasperatedly skyward. “I forget sometimes, the way they mess you up about emotions, up there. Anger can feel good, angel. So can fear, or sadness. It’s just like physical pain. Context is everything.”

There was silence as Aziraphale seemed to mull this over. Crowley picked up one of the angel’s hands in both his own and began to massage between the knuckles.

“I’m sorry I’ve gone and spoiled everything,” Aziraphale finally said.

“ _Hey._ ” Crowley twisted around again. “You didn’t spoil anything.”

“You shouldn’t be the one having to take care of me.”

“Oh, bugger off with all that. We’re well past what either one of us should be doing.”

“I just worry,” Aziraphale replied in that small voice again.

“I noticed,” Crowley said with a smirk, but when only a subdued pause followed he assumed a gentler tone. “What do you worry about, love?”

“That I’ll make a mistake,” Aziraphale answered quietly. “I’ve already been so hurtful to you, in the past, and I’m worried I’ll do it again by accident, or get carried away and just end up causing you more pain and you…you’ll decide you’re better off without me…”

“Bless it, they did a number on you up in Heaven, didn’t they? Well, you’re in luck, cause I know exactly how you feel. And let me tell you right now, angel- _you will make a mistake at some point._ You and I are still figuring this whole romance thing out, and there’s going to be miscommunications and cock-ups and us taking things the wrong way. So you might as well stop worrying about it, because I guarantee you it’s going to happen and I guarantee that I’ll love you anyway. Alright?”

“It’s not that simple!” Aziraphale protested.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because….” Aziraphale’s hands began to twist together. “Because it can’t be. You deserve better than that, I keep trying to find how I can _be better_ -“

“Aziraphale!” Crowley seized the angel’s hands again, clasped them to his chest. “I want _this_. You and me, together. There’s no _better_. I just want us.”

“But what if you’re wrong? What if there is something better for you, out there?”

“Who cares? As long as you and I want to be together, what does it matter?”

“I just worry,” Aziraphale repeated. “You can be so reckless, darling.”

“Angel,” Crowley answered softly. “Just because I don’t overthink things the way you do, doesn’t mean I don’t think at all.”

There was a soft _click_ , as though Aziraphale had abruptly snapped his jaw shut. Crowley smiled. There was quiet for a good long time after that, which eventually ended with a deep sigh from Aziraphale.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t assume that. I…I’m sorry, my darling.”

“I forgive you,” Crowley said immediately. “See? No harm done.”

“You’re truly alright, then? With…what we just did?”

“Yeah.” Crowley leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I am. It’s good to be allowed to feel some things, you know? To do it where it’s safe.”

“You’re safe with me,” Aziraphale promised, and planted a soft kiss on Crowley’s temple.

“We don’t have to do it again, though, if you don’t want to,” Crowley continued.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and was certain that what was going to follow it would be Aziraphale demurring again, promising he was fine, offering to do whatever Crowley needed and not to worry about him.

Instead, an exhale followed, and a squeeze about Crowley’s midsection.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think I’ll be ready to do it again right away. But this helps immensely. I think as long as we can do this afterward, I’ll be alright.”

“The cuddling, or the bath?”

“Both,” Aziraphale answered. “Well, here, anyway. I don’t think we’ll both fit in the bath at my place.”

“You can fix that at the same time you fix the bed.”

“Yes, dear. I really am going to get on that soon, I promise.”

“I know,” Crowley said, and what’s more, actually believed. Aziraphale might take longer than they both wanted to keep his promise, but Crowley had no doubt that he meant what he said. 

He trusted Aziraphale, and nothing could worry him all that much anymore.


End file.
